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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29398092">Settle</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweatingHerLadyBollocksOff/pseuds/SweatingHerLadyBollocksOff'>SweatingHerLadyBollocksOff</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Thick of It (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Fluff, Old Age, Old Malc Rambles, Old Married Couple</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:09:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,215</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29398092</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweatingHerLadyBollocksOff/pseuds/SweatingHerLadyBollocksOff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Malcolm and Nicola are getting old. What a bloody pain in the arse.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Nicola Murray/Malcolm Tucker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Settle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Brief references to surgery and Old Malc thinking about the inevitable end. But it's very soft for all that. Might be a second part sometime!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There is a gentle indignity in getting older. Katie's place is perfect, a bright, open barn conversion on the family farm she'd married into, and she's even gone to the trouble of getting a little annexe built on the side for them. They're not really 'moving in with her' so much as 'moving to live next to her', or at least that's what he's been telling himself. Nicola seems to have no such reservations, plunging headfirst into the once familiar routine of childcare and housekeeping with the enthusiasm of a woman at least thirty years her junior. It's not that Katie expects them to help out, she'd actually much rather they just sat around and enjoyed themselves, but Nicola seems determined to earn her keep. It's almost as if she wants to constantly remind him that she's seven years <em>his</em> junior, but that's just him being defensive. Probably. Either way, she's over in the main house as he starts on unpacking the last of their stuff, settling nicknacks and mementos in places that feel relatively right. It's almost a physical ache, how much he misses their home, the deceptively roomy cottage on the edge of the countryside, "conveniently located for the best of both worlds" as the advert had described it. Sitting here, on the edge of a bed he doesn't know yet, in his step-daughters martial home, feels like he's been picked up and transported somewhere utterly bizarre, like one of Tom's lego people without any heads that he hides in the veg drawer in the fridge. Headless, homeless, trying to find his way in sea of runner beans. It's a decidedly apt metaphor, one he wished he'd never stumbled on because now he can't get it out of his head. </p><p>It's not that he isn't grateful. The offer of the annexe had beyond comprehension at first, beyond anything he could believe he deserved. For all their talk of not needing another dad, of not wanting to be let down again, the eldest girls had accepted him into their family with a grace and a patience that they could only have gotten from their mother.  On one of her exceptionally Good Days. Katie and Michael are natural hosts, attentive but unobtrusive, and the fact that the annexe is not actually attached to their house was a nice touch. Even at their age, it's nice to have a little privacy. And it's not that he isn't grateful to be getting older, either. Of course he is - he never thought for a single moment that he'd make it this far, not least with how many times Nicola has almost given him a stress-induced heart attack. For all his youthful excesses and mid-life neglect, he's turned out to be the healthy one, and she really picks her moments. He thinks back to the appendicectomy just weeks before their wedding, the emergency hysterectomy in the Seychelles, the time she broke her ankle whilst receiving her lifetime achievement for charity award. It's never fucking easy, but always bloody worth it, mostly because she refuses to let any of it get her down. Her body is different, now, not that it matters. Her stretchmarks have faded, gone silvery with age, which is a loss, but also makes her skin look sort of like a map, signposting what once was. They're joined by newer scars, a fresher catalogue of incidents and accidents, all the more common now her skin has softened and turned paper thin. Not that he can talk - he gave himself a papercut the other week opening the Sunday supplements and it bled for two hours. </p><p>Age has forced them to become vulnerable, which sits as an uncomfortable necessity for them both, joining mammograms and bowel screening and grey eyebrows as just 'one of those things'. He desperately doesn't want to become one of those things. Nicola is absolutely banned from becoming one of those things. She's far too bright and wild still, and he'll defend her wilful independence if - until - it kills him. Or her, though preferably him first. Thankfully all their kids stayed close at hand, and Ellie too, so he's not worried about leaving her when the time comes. Not that it'll be any time soon. It's not that he <em>wants</em> her to go through losing him - he'd take any sort of pain and heartache for her a million times over - but he wants her to go on after him, sparkling and shining like the last sparkler of Bonfire Night. He'll slip away under a cloud of campfire smoke, and hopefully she won't even notice, far too caught up in the promise of bigger and brighter things. Marshmallows, for one, she still fucking loves those. A gentle knock at the door disturbs his forward thinking. "C'min" he calls, still not seeing the need for additional vowels. It's George. He knows full well he shouldn't have favourite grandchildren, but he really does have a soft spot for George, the first of five. Six, maybe, by now. Ella's wife is due any day, and he knows full well Nicola won't tell him until it's all over successfully, to avoid him wearing down the carpets with pacing.  </p><p>"Y'alright, mate?" Malcolm asks him, smiling up at the tall, confident young man his oldest grandson has aged into. Much older in spirit than his thirteen years, George has grown up naturally, freely, supported by two excellent parents and two slightly neurotic sets of grandparents, and it's made all the difference. Himself and Nicola had both been forced to grow up, in their own ways, so its a relief that not just their children, but <em>their</em> children too, have been growing up slowly and sensibly. For the most part. Katie and Ella have never quite lost their wild streaks, but they've both settled a little, enough to stop giving their mother migraines at least. Michael has been a rock for Katie, channeling her natural nervous energy into whether the cows need milking, and whether the lambs are warm enough, not to mention the small army of four kids that have run around underfoot for the last decade or so. It took a little longer for Ella to find her One, and many more false starts, but the look of pure delight on Nicolas face when Ella had brought Teigen home one Sunday lunchtime two years ago is etched into his memory forever. She's perfect, tiny and loud and very, very Welsh, and currently very <em>very</em> pregnant. Maybe he'll drive down later and make sure they're getting on okay. "Granddad?" George prompts, a classical Murray lopsided smile quirking at the edge of his lips. "Fuck - sorry, lad. Miles away. Ye'alright? I'm listenin this time, and no, I'm not getting demented." George grins, thankfully, and nods. "Yeah, all good. Was just gonna go up and feed the lambs. Wanna come? Granny's taking Maisie and Tom out for a walk with Mum." Something about Nicola being Granny still makes him smile, mostly because it still makes her cringe. "Aye, go on then. They seem to like chewing my shoes" he smiles, heading out with George, coats zipped tight and wellies all muddy, a life he could never have seen himself living even five years ago. Still. He'll do anything to stay, now. Anything at all. </p>
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